A phone rang, but it wasn’t the one in the detective’s hand.
Brantley stepped away as he took the call. Reese listened as Brantley greeted JJ, then the silence that followed.
“Yeah,” was the response, the inflection noting Brantley’s disappointment. “I know. We’re here. Reese found it, actually. No. She’s not here. Just the phone.”
More silence, followed by a quick goodbye.
“That was JJ. She was calling to tell me she’d gotten a bead on the phone.”
Reese nodded.
“If she met with someone after she came home,” Detective Buchanan said, “they didn’t call her and she didn’t call them. Looks like the missed ones are from Mom.”
“Yeah,” Reese agreed. “We’ve already checked all the numbers.”
That seemed to catch the detective’s attention.
“We’ve had a little more time to look into it,” Reese explained. “We got the call from Corinne’s mother this morning.”
Turning back to the outdoor furniture, Reese imagined Corinne coming home after a night out with friends. Grabbing another glass of wine, stepping outside. She probably enjoyed sitting out here. Perhaps it had been one of the reasons she’d picked this place. The view, the solitude.
But the storm had blown through sometime around midnight. Maybe it had already passed when she got back? Maybe she was drawn out here by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance? In his mind’s eye, he saw her curling up on the chair with her wineglass, reflecting on her night? Thinking about her friends, what she’d be doing today when she woke up? Texting the man she’d met at the bar.
“Someone came here,” Reese pondered. “She was sittin’ out here, drinkin’ wine, texting. Someone knocks on the front door, she sets her glass down, goes to see who it is. Explains why the back door was left unlocked.”
Brantley watched him, looking as though he was turning the words over to figure them out.
“Which means it was unexpected,” the detective mused. “She didn’t plan to leave.”
Brantley sighed and Reese could feel the man’s tension.
“We should check the security cameras in the building,” Reese told them, glancing down at his watch.
Thirteen hours since Corinne Greenwood was last seen by Suzy Dumonde walking into this building.
Thirteen and a half since her friends had bid her a good night.
He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he knew they were likely thinking the same thing: They were running out of time.
***
Cori came awake with a headache that throbbed behind her eyes. It took a minute to realize where she was, remember how she got there. The knock on her door, the gun, being forced out of the building and into a dark blue car. She’d caught a glimpse of the license plate but couldn’t remember what it was anymore. Not that it would do her any good now.
From the looks of it, there wouldn’t be anyone to tell about her ordeal. No one who would care, anyway.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to find a way out of here.
She stared around the small room, taking stock. Concrete walls and floor, both of which had seen better days, a small window high up on the wall, too small for her to fit through and too high for her to get to. Without getting to her feet, she strained to look out. The sun was still up, which meant it was daytime, although she wasn’t sure what day it was. It didn’t take long to realize she couldn’t see anything except for the grimy glass and what appeared to be weeds on the other side. So she was in a basement? What else had that sort of view?
Probably not a good escape route option.
Continuing on, she noticed a set of stairs leading up, presumably into the house. It was visible through the bars that kept her contained to this side of the room. It looked as though the space had been split down the middle, a cheap metal cot and a portable toilet on this side, nothing but the stairs on the other. The door wasn’t made of bars, though. It was solid, with a couple of slots—one at the bottom, another in the middle. Like a pass-thru for bigger things than what might fit through the bars.
The stairs would be her only option, the door her biggest obstacle.
Above her head, she heard footsteps. Every now and then, she could almost make out someone talking, but it wasn’t the man who had taken her. No, she knew his voice, remembered it. This was a woman.
Oh, God. Please, someone help me.
Cori didn’t dare speak the words aloud. The last thing she wanted was to anger her captors in any way. He’d already hit her once, told her to sit down and shut up or he would smash her head in. The rage she’d heard had convinced her he wasn’t lying. It had taken her completely by surprise considering she’d known him for what felt like her entire life, and never had she seen him angry. Not like that. And the look in his eyes… Definitely not the same treatment she’d encountered when he had been the principal of her high school. But it was definitely Principal Dugan who had knocked on her door, held a gun to her face, and forced her to leave with him.
